"We Live in Hope"
This Times (UK) photograph of the Year 2019, is so close to home. For those of you who know about our work in Kenya and our humanitarian efforts through CES Canada/Kenya to provide sources of clean safe water in rural KENYA - you will understand when I tell you this brilliant photo “cuts me to the core.”
A young boy in Kakamega, Kenya drinks dirty water from a stream. There is a lack of access to clean water in the area which greatly increases the risk of diarrhoeal diseases such as cholera, typhoid fever and dysentery and other water-borne tropical diseases.
Since the beginnings of CES Canada in 2003, I have been inspired by the lives of young people in Kenya. They encourage me to live a life where hope has a chance of overcoming life’s challenges. I see in Kenyan people, a resilience that overcomes adversity, and an inner strength that is exemplified by Sister Mary Goretti, former Principal at St Caroli Lwanga Lutaso SS. She would often tell me, "We Live in Hope."
And that’s what I see in CES Canada - HOPE!
*Hope is that inner voice that says all things are possible
*Hope is bread for the hungry soul
*Hope keeps dancing when the song has been sung
*Hope finds a solution to the acute poverty that brings people to their knees.
As a young immigrant to Canada in the early 50’s I experienced humble beginnings; yet, I never knew poverty as I know it now. I attended thirteen schools in the same number of years. When I was ten, we enjoyed riding in our first family motor vehicle, a 1947 Studebaker. The first television in our home was a black and white, the kind where programs ended at midnight with a test pattern. I was eighteen at the time. I never felt poor or hard done by.
Even after a bout of polio that left me paralyzed, I learned after one year in quarantine how to walk again. Thanks to the amazing work of the March of Dimes and the Vancouver General Hospital, I made a comeback. That was my life and I was happy.
Yes, I have experienced hunger and missed a few meals along the way. I have felt sorry for myself because I could not have certain things I wanted as a child, like a baseball glove. But I have never suffered physically or psychologically because of lack of basic needs.
So why am I so obsessed with poverty? It’s because I have seen it first hand, with my own eyes. Poverty comes in different forms and disguises. It seeks to humiliate and destroy the one affected.
Poverty is dehumanizing. It is a stark display of injustice and inaccessibility to fundamental human rights. Acute poverty affects nearly 30% of people living in Kenya. Poverty levels are high in rural areas, affecting uneducated and vulnerable youth under the age of 18 years.
Imagine your toilet is permanently out of order, a reality for 1 of 3 people globally. Or your sink is a 3.7 mile walk away, a reality for 1 of 10 people. According to the United Nations, women and girls are responsible for water collection in 80% of households without access to water on premises. This means less time for education, work, and family.
By promoting gender equality, providing education for all, increasing access to sanitation and clean water and creating employment opportunities for youth will go a long ways to eliminating poverty. When communities have access to safe water, women and girls can spend their time cultivating passions and working toward brighter futures.
Think of the following scenarios, each tells a story of acute poverty in Kenya. They are not fictitious nor made up. Some you will have a hard time believing, and others will shock and maybe even offend you. Poverty has no respect for anyone; it does however, attack the most vulnerable - women and children.
A Form 4 CES student at Friends Namundera SS, when asked what he would most like for Christmas - his reply, “a bar of soap so I won’t have to smell so badly.”
A young girl wanders the side roads of Kakamega Town, picking up tiny pieces of charcoal that she drops into a tin can. To fill it is a day’s work and she may sell it for thirty shillings. That’s about 45 cents Cdn. School does not exist for this six year old.
A young boy aged twelve walks the Main Street of Kakamega sucking on a half empty plastic bottle, a deadly mix of kerosene and glue. He scrounges in garbage bins looking for a discarded scrap of avocado or mango or piece of bread. He has no place to stay tonight.
Another kid in his early teens lies behind a kiosk with only his feet visible to the passerby. The only clothing he wears is a pair of oversized pants with gaping holes front and back, no underwear. His eyes are closed as he lies there in the dirt. Flies play havoc on his eyelids as he tries in vain to brush them off. He has just wet himself. His only task today is to find some food to eat. That begins after dark when the police stop harassing him.
A young girl in Standard 6 class experiences her first period. She is humiliated by her teacher for having a stain on her school uniform. She is told to leave the class and go home. The child will never return. She hangs herself from a tree branch on the way home. Parents and community members seek answers; meanwhile, after five days the teacher has not been investigated.
Two hundred children attend a CES Kenya Jiggers medical clinic. After registering they sit quietly, silently on benches waiting their turn for feet to be cut, jiggers larvae to be removed and feet placed in a bucket of acidic potassium solution. They do not flinch, but silent tears show their pain to be real. They arrive barefoot, some walking five kilometres. They return in the same manner with open sores and cuts on the soles of their feet. One upgrade - a new pair of shoes to help fight against the next jiggers (sand flea) infestation.
Form 2 boy living in Navakholo in rural western Kenya is sent home for the third time this second semester for school fees. Each time he returns begging to attend school, offering only a small fraction of what he owes the school. It is not enough, even though it represents a week’s wages for his mother who sells tomatoes and bananas in the market place. Once again, this desperate young man is told he cannot proceed. The long, sad journey home is enough to discourage a bright mind - another future in jeopardy.
A young mother with five children has not reached her thirtieth birthday. She lives in a mud hut smeared with cow dung and covered with a combination of grass, sticks and tin metal. She is HIV positive, infected by a husband twice her age. She always feels tired. She neglects herself to provide a meagre measure of corn meal and water. There is no money for ARV’s, so critical to fight the onslaught of Aids.
A student in Form One wakes at three o'clock in the morning to avoid being late for school. His home is located deep in the interior in the village and the school is in the vicinity of Kakamega town. Enduring the morning cold with no cardigan or pullover, he adapts to survive the arduous journey. Collecting the early morning dew from the napier grass along the side of the road, this is his source of fresh clean water to drink. He tells me that God protects him from the dogs and other dangers on the road.
A woman has been beaten by her husband, so badly she cannot move to get help. Neighbours assist her to a local hospital where because she cannot pay for services will be turned away. Seeking justice, she requests a meeting with the local chief. He is willing to set in motion the traditional extra-judicial system of local justice. That can happen for a fee of a thousand shillings. She walks away without obtaining justice.
Walking through a small village in Lurambi rural Kenya, I have a plastic bottle of water to hydrate. I see a young boy of five or six years eyeing the water. He takes my hand as we continue to communicate non-verbally. Removing the cap, I offer the water to the other outstretched hand. Huge smile, a couple of big gulps and the liquid is gone. The word gets out quickly and I am soon surrounded by a dozen kids, all hoping for the same. Bottled water here is a treat.
Grades for a CES Form 3 student are slipping. When asked, the Principal tells a story of this boy’s mother who died in a house fire some months previous. The cause was a spark from a cooking fire inside the hut igniting the grass roof. He tried to rescue her but to no avail. This boy cannot erase from his mind the memory of her screams as she perished in his presence.
A young boy about to enter high school for the first time arrives without a uniform. A well wisher has paid the Semester 1 school fees. What is missing is a pair of shoes and a school uniform. There will be no admission until the student is fully outfitted. Luckily, a recent graduate from the same school notices, runs back to his home and returns with a well-worn, slightly torn set of shirt and pants. He throws in a tie and a pair of shoes two sizes bigger than what the younger one needs. One more orphaned kid begins life in secondary school.
A young woman of twenty years attends the CES Kenya office along with her aged father. His mobility is limited as he needs crutches to walk. He does not speak English, his mother tongue is a dialect of the Luhya tribal language. They are requesting a scholarship to continue learning at a college. As we speak it becomes difficult to breath and to remain in the office area. The smell of urine and unwashed clothing is overwhelming. So too is the body odour, powerful and possibly signifying infection or another health problem.
Visiting a rural secondary school, I greet five boys. Each are bright, eager to learn. Dressed in their green and white uniforms, their smiles and beautiful faces are radiant. One thing sets them apart from so many - their stature. For senior boys they are short, the tallest is under five feet. This could be genetic but more likely a result of what is prevalent in this area - systemic malnutrition. These boys know what hunger feels like and understand that one decent meal might be theirs every two to three days. It is such a privilege for CES to be able to feed them and provide the diet they need to succeed in their learning.
Malaria is common in rural Kenya. There are strong medications that if taken immediately can provide a cure within four days. That’s of course if one can walk the eight kilometres to the nearest clinic; that’s if the clinic has the medicine in stock; that’s if the medicine is affordable. And if not, the results could be fatal.
A child is born in the bush near a small village in rural Kenya. That little one grows and learns to scrap for a meagre existence by hustling and living off the land. Education is a luxury and growing into adulthood means perpetuating another generational cycle of poverty. Transportation is mostly on foot. A life span of sixty years is hoped for. The world view of this person is relatively narrow. This child never left her village. To visit Nairobi would have been the same as visiting Toronto - impossible.
Poverty is a relentless assault on the human spirit. It grinds and wears one down. There is little compromise or negotiation. Yet even those who live in acute poverty can hope for a better day. They can still smile and enjoy what little life gives them. The amazing resilient character of Kenyans who live in extreme poverty is a testament to the belief that, ‘where there is life there is hope...and where there is hope there is freedom’.